


Paper Flowers

by september_again



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, I promise, Kidnapping, Past Violence, Slow Burn, Very Very Slow Burn, but don't worry there is a happy ending, just trust me, lots of violence oops, present violence, probably future violence too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/september_again/pseuds/september_again
Summary: Set after S6E6 Au Revoir. Rated M for violence, harsh language and mild explicit content in Chapter 15.When Alex is kidnapped, Neal knows he can always depend on the help of his long time partner-in-crime Mozzie and his best friend Peter. But will their combined efforts be enough to find her? Old ghosts have a funny way of resurfacing.With guest appearances from Satchmo, Diana and Jones in the Finale.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Purpleninjacow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleninjacow/gifts).



> tell me if you guys wanna read more. let me know if it's worth posting the rest of the story or nah. first chapter is from alex's pov but all other chapters are from neal's pov (because alex is infuriatingly difficult to characterise and i gave up). heavily neal & mozzie-centric for first 10 chapters then neal & peter-centric for next 10 chapters. alex's presence is heavily implied (as in, they talk about her a ton) but she's not physically present because, ya know...kidnapped. all chapters are written but may not be posted because i suffer from hectic-real-life syndrome and crippling self-doubt about my writing capabilities. hit me up on fanfic at september.again !

**Chapter 1 - Prologue**

 

            A cool breeze gently lifted the chocolate brown locks off her shoulders as she weaved gracefully between the throngs of people wandering along the square at the base of the Eiffel tower. Her customary black leather jacket clung perfectly to her slender frame, a modest protection against the sharp chill that still lingered in the mid-February air. Alex thought herself much above the common pickpocket and street thief that roamed dark alleys and, in truth, it had been years since she had indulged in this particular impulse. This valentine’s night, however, the square was packed with blissful couples and young love was in the air. Alex had always been a romanticist, though she would sooner lay down her life before admitting to that fact, and the atmosphere brought back a wave of bitter-sweet nostalgia. She thought back to that February, years ago, when she walked these very streets with a certain charming someone, a black fedora on his chocolate locks and a perfect smile saved just for her. For old times’ sake. Alex just could not resist.

            A mysterious half-smile rested on her lips as she spun around on one heel, jostling the shoulder of the middle-aged man walking just beside her. Shaping her mouth into an apologetic ‘o’ and raising one eyebrow in mild anxiety, she turned away. He never felt the perfectly practiced movement as slender fingers slid into his coat, lifting the black Coach wallet out of his inner pocket. Alex’s eyes shone as she let out a carefree, tinkling laugh, as if she alone knew all the secrets in the world. The image of _that_ young man with the chocolate locks and charming smile flashed into her mind again and a memory of them weaving and twisting through the crowd that cool February night, spiders in the webs they had masterfully spun, quickly followed. A dull ache throbbed in her chest as the memories of pain, loss and cold betrayal accompanied it and it was all she could do not to cry out. Instead, she returned to her craft with increased vigour. It was almost vicious how she slipped the next few wallets out of the pockets of her victims in rapid succession, never pausing for a breath. It had to have been at least a half hour later that the repetitive fluidity of the motions had tamed her pounding heart into some semblance of a steady rhythm. By the time she had caught her breath, she was at least 3 grand richer. It was hardly a fortune compared to the scores she was used to, but the adrenaline provided an almost magical rush that she would die to experience again.

            Abruptly, she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as she caught a distinct glimpse of dark eyes watching her. Years in the business had gifted her with a remarkable gut feel and she would do well to trust her instincts. Right then, her instincts told her that she was being keenly watched - and had been for a considerable length of time. The cheap thrill of the chase had previously left her oblivious to the unwanted and most definitely malicious attention. In the fencing business, being _good_ went hand in hand with making powerful enemies; and Alex was one of the best fences of all time.

            Alex knew with distinct clarity that the choice was between losing her tail and facing certain, imminent death. It was not all that bad; she had come face to face with far worse in her time and made it out alive. Adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she dodged quickly right, quiet as a mouse and twice as stealthy, turning off into a smaller alley. The night was turning out to be much more fun than she had bargained for. The heels of her black boots barely made a whisper as they brought her round the bend and into a smaller footpath. The traffic started to thin out here as she moved increasingly further from the tower and she could count on the fingers of one hand the numbers of passers-by she brushed past as she reached the end of that small path. She was distinctly aware of the risk she was taking by moving into a quieter area where her cries would go unheard should her shadow find her, but this was her territory now. She was a master of escape acts and there were still some who swore on their lives that she could disappear into thin air.

            Feeling dizzyingly confident, Alex took another left turn and advanced down a yet smaller back alley, the black cover of night lending her its blanket of comfort and protection. Mid-way down the street, the confidence evaporated, leaving her just plain dizzy. Her mind began to cloud over as her legs threatened to give out beneath her. Leaning her back against the rough cobblestone walls of quaint little shop houses that lined both sides of the path, she tried in vain to catch her breath and think over the fog that was rapidly filling her head. Flashes of memories from earlier on in the night passed through her mind. The image of that one middle-aged man popped up and her eyes widened in a mixture of fear and horror as everything clicked into place. The sharp prick of the metal needle tip of a filled syringe on the flesh of her inner arm as she slid her wrist into the fold of his cashmere jacket to retrieve his wallet lasted barely a half second and could have easily been mistaken for the unfortunate catch of a wayward bobby pin. _How foolish_ , she thought as the haze became an ever more pressing reality. Ears ringing, she heard the distinct sound of footsteps closing in two alleys away.

            It wouldn’t be long now. Fighting the urge to give in to the suffocating darkness, Alex forced herself to stand her ground. She had always been a fighter and would, to her last breath, remain so. It was no use letting go now. She briefly wondered who this particular hit-man had been commissioned by, then realised that really, considering the circumstances, it hardly mattered. As her legs gave way, she trailed her fingers along the rough reddish-brow brick wall of the shop house behind her to soften her fall. Rough stone bit into her palm, slicing through soft flesh and drawing blood and as she landed in a heap against the cool uneven tiles, an image of his charming smile and chocolate locks flashed into her mind. Neal Caffrey. A plan began to form in her mind, even as she felt her consciousness slip slowly through her fingers. It was not much of a plan as it depended wholly on his alliance, but then again, she was not in much of a position to be picky.

            Her fingers slipped into her handbag and lifted out a flyer that had been shoved in her face by an over-zealous salesman earlier beneath the Eiffel Tower, staining the edges with faint drops of blood from the shallow cuts on her palm. In fluid, deliberate movements that could only have been borne of over a million repetitions of that series of motions, she made quick work of that pamphlet. _17A Rue Émile Borel_ she scribbled on the corner with one of those disposable brio pens that had thankfully found its way into her handbag. Alex wondered if _he_ was even still living there and, if he was not, how he would receive her cry for help. She then realised that it did not matter as if he was no longer living at the said address, he had moved on from her and would be, on most accounts, unwilling to send help regardless. As she finally succumbed to the suffocating fog, her slender fingers slipped what had been the pamphlet under the door of the quaint brick-red shop house that she had slumped against.

            On the mat of an unassuming yet stunningly reddish shop house a few streets down from the Eiffel Tower lay - with smudges of blood staining its petals - a single paper flower.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal finds a paper flower on is doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my lovely cousin Jamie who was the best beta reader I could ever ask for.
> 
> Shoutout to Paola for her heartwarming comment and saphire2309 for leaving kudos! This chapter is for you :)

**Chapter 2 – The Beginning**

 

           It all began on that one cool February night. Neal Caffrey wound his way through the crowds of people that lined the street of _Rue Émile Borel_ , a charming smile curving the corner of his lips upwards just so and his signature black fedora resting comfortably on his windswept brown locks, appearing to all who may spare a glance his way as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He took a deep breath in the chilly evening air, and supposed there was just _something_ about February in Paris. The image of a certain someone, long chestnut locks perfectly framing the sides of her face and that little half-smile she reserved just for him as they walked down the square overlooking the Eiffel Tower hand in hand all those years back, flashed into his mind’s eye. Afterwards, they had gone straight home to share nothing but a bottle of Chateau Margaux and each other’s company. _Home_ \- that was what _17A Rue Emile Borel_ had been for an entire 3 months that year, before everything crashed and burned, and it had been the best three months of his life. Neal was a self-proclaimed romanticist, and proud of it too, so when he skipped out of New York City leaving Peter, June and El behind after the entire fiasco with the Pink Panthers, his heart led him straight back to where it all began. The thought of Peter brought with it a wave of nostalgia. He really did miss his best friend.

            He had spent a good 6 and a half months in that apartment in Paris since and, with each passing day, the memories brought yet another dagger to his heart. He wondered then if he was somewhat of a masochist, choosing to live in the self-inflicted agony as thoughts of her filled his days. He then realised with a laugh, that it really could not be helped because all roads led to Rome and, in his case, as the world spun and twisted on its axis, everything would always bring him back to _Alex_.

            To rid himself of his dismal thoughts on such an otherwise perfect mid-February night, he took a good look around, absorbing the sights and sounds on the street. He let the low hum of excited chatter and gentle flashes of yellow illumination casted on the falling leaves drive the thoughts of Alex out of his mind. With the piercing pain somewhat negated, his cheery demeanour returned. Turning himself three-quarters backwards, he raised his fedora and flashed a brilliant grin at the adjacent figure of a young lady walking down the opposite direction of the _Rue Emile Borel_. She blushed, hiding a delicate smile behind the back of her raised hand. His spirits had lifted considerably by the time he had turned properly back around and continued along his journey home. Home - it was funny how he still considered that apartment home. It did not seem like much of a home without her tinkling laugh and the sharp spice of the perfume that she liked to use which, despite the frankly embarrassing number of hours he spent in the Women’s Essentials isle of the grocery store sampling different brands, he still could not place.

            It was one of his favourite pastimes - wondering where in the world she might have been right that instant. She could be sipping dirty martinis on the coast of a Porte Rican Beach half a world away, enjoying the way the warm rays of the setting sun kissed her skin. She was also just as likely, he knew, to be walking down the very same street as him, brushing his shoulder lightly as she passed, and he would be none the wiser. Alex flew wherever her heart fancied, never ever settling down for more than a fleeting moment to take in the sights and sounds of her new destination before slipping away with nothing so much as a whisper goodbye. She was a mystery; an enigma, and she could be in anywhere at all that she wanted to.

            The thought of Alex gazing up at the stars, sharing the same night sky as him somewhere in the world, brought a gentle smile to his lips. As the old granite steps leading to his apartment at the end of the street came into view, he froze. There on the doorstep of _17A Rue Emile Borel_ laid a single paper flower, petals lifted slightly by the breeze. He could not make out anything but a blurry outline from where he stood, but he was willing to bet on his life that it carried with it the biting spice of her perfume. His mouth split into a wide grin; his heart raced in his chest and suddenly, he was tearing through the street. Neal reached his doorstep in hardly any time at all and, exhaling in ragged gasps, he bent down to retrieve the flower.

            There was no message written on it, save the address to what was once _their_ apartment; and there needn’t have been, as the flower _was_ the message. It was their secret code. It meant that somehow, somewhere, Alex was thinking about him too. Neal stroked the petals gently with a thumb and index finger of one hand, imagining how Alex had held the paper in her palm just a few hours before, a fond smile finding its way onto his lips. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath, letting the scent of her perfume fill his lungs, pretending for a moment that she was right there beside him. As his eyes fluttered open, he noticed something that made ice coarse through his veins

            There on the corner of the third petal was a darkened red smudge that looked suspiciously like dried blood. Alex’s blood. Holding the suddenly ominous paper flower in his hand, he had no doubt that Alex was in trouble. The flower was a last desperate cry for help. Neal’s eyebrows drew down as his light blue eyes darkened in barely restrained anger. A sudden memory of him standing back in June’s apartment that warm Friday afternoon, his eyes resting on Alex’s turned back as she had one hand on the doorknob and one foot already out the door. He had promised her then, as she left, that he would never let anyone hurt her. He fully intended to fulfil that promise. With a decisive snap of his fingers, Neal decided it was time to call Mozzie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal goes to Mozzie for help - just like the good old days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Jenny. Thanks for leaving a comment on my last chapter! You're the best :)

  
**Chapter 3 – Game On**

 

           Paper flower in hand, Neal spun briskly on one heel, doubling back down the street he had just come from. The careless chatter of young couples filled the night but this time Neal hardly even registered the sounds as he pushed through the throngs of people. The February evening air suddenly felt that much harsher and Neal shivered reflexively as he felt a chill run down his spine.  He weaved between suit-clad young men and pretty young things in black cocktail dresses, never pausing to utter so much as a word of warning as he passed. His polished black Italian loafers scuffed against the rough pavement, wearing out their soles, as he advanced up _Rue Emile Borel_. He rounded the bend quickly and turned off down a smaller and quieter alley. As he progressed further through the alley, the brightly lit boutiques and low hum of idle chatter gave way to a gentle hush.

            It was quieter on the small street and almost every window on the buildings was darkened. While the houses were not in shambles and the inhabitants there were hardly living in poverty, it was clear that he had moved into a considerably less well off part of town. Neal carried on down the familiar street that felt to him like a second home in the past half year that he had spent in Paris. He came to a halt upon reaching a stout and unassuming apartment, raising his knuckles to the heavy-set wooden door.

_Tap tappity tap tap._

“Password?” called a distrustful voice from the other side.

“Bread basket!” replied Neal. “Open up, Mozzie. We don’t have time for games.”

The sound of keys jangling and at least a dozen locks clicking into place resonated through the wood, and moments later, the door was pushed open just a few inches. Neal slid through the slim gap, making a small sound of disapproval at the back of his throat as his coat tail was ruffled between the wood and the door frame. As the door clicked closed behind him, Neal brandished the slightly crumpled paper flower in front of him wordlessly as a form of explanation. Mozzie let out a strangled yelp as he took in its bloodied edges. The active conspiracy theorist and loyal friend’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, the shock interfering with his ability to form a proper sentence. Neal pushed past him into the modest living room that lay in the centre of the apartment as Mozzie continued to stand rooted at the entrance, making a world-class impersonation of a goldfish.

“Alex is in trouble,” said Neal in a slow and measured voice, as one would use to explain challenging concepts to a particularly dim toddler. By stating the obvious, he hoped to impress upon Mozzie the severity of the situation so that he could start looking for information to save Alex, or at the very least, quit gaping like dazed monkey. Under normal circumstances, Mozzie was the best _cleaner_ Neal knew. When asked, it was the word that Mozzie used to describe his profession – he cleaned things; messy situations; other people’s screw-ups, all at a price. Neal definitely needed Mozzie to clean up this situation. Obviously, the chances of that happening any time soon were slim, what with Mozzie flailing his arms out at his side, his mouth hanging open. Finally recovering from the sudden shock, Mozzie pushed his black rimmed spectacles further up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat.  

“She’s _Alex_. Our Alex. She doesn’t get into trouble,” huffed Mozzie indignantly.

“Well, then, explain this,” replied Neal coolly as he waved the paper flower in Mozzie’s face. “She needs our help Mozz.” Mozzie coughed and shook his head from side to side, as if to clear the thoughts clouding his mind. “Right,” called Mozzie in his most business-like voice. “This is a treasure hunt. We have to start with the first clue,” he said as he held the paper flower out delicately between his thumb and index finger with as much care as if it was an original Picasso. With his free hand, Mozzie snatched up a battered old satchel that had seen better days and slung it over one sleeved shoulder. He flittered around the cosy living room, his fingers tapping nervously against the sparsely-furnished counter tops as he went. Occasionally, his arm would dart out to grab an item to toss into the mouth of his satchel. The satchel got fuller by the minute and, by the time the next ten were over, it looked fit to burst. So far, it contained one fake nose; one ratty old sneaker; one goatee; one bleached blond wig outlandish enough to give a beach bum a run for his money and two pairs of ridiculously large neon-rimmed glasses. Just as Neal was about to swear that the bag would tear at the seams, Mozzie came to an abrupt halt. With a satisfied nod, he turned to leave the apartment.

“That’s the Mozzie I know,” smirked Neal as he trailed behind Mozzie’s small figure. With a courteous tip of his fedora to the empty living room for good luck, Neal walked back through the door frame and into the dim street. The game was on.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pleeeeeaaaaaaase comment <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal and Mozzie hit up the streets to find clues.

**Chapter 4 – Retailer’s Nightmare**

 

            Neal and Mozzie strode purposefully down the dimly-lit street, the soles of their shoes clicking quietly against the worn, uneven cobblestones. They continued on shoulder to shoulder until they reached the intersection that signalled the end of the small path. As they rounded the bend, Neal hung back, giving Mozzie space to do his thing. With absolute and unwavering trust in his loyal and oldest friend, Neal briskly followed Mozzie’s lead, turning right into a wider road. The low hum of chatter gradually filled the night air and both men could feel the change in atmosphere in their bones. It was much brighter here with the calm gentle glow of the street lamps lining either side of the road highlighting the glossed leaves of nearby trees and catching on the edges of the neat row of buildings.

            Neal followed Mozzie round another bend at the next street corner and found himself back on the very same Rue Emile Borel that he had run all the way up and down earlier that night. Only a couple of hours had passed between now and then, but it already seemed like a lifetime ago. It was funny how one minute everything lay perfectly in its place and the next the world had turned itself right around. As Neal pushed his way past happy couples and well-dressed pretty young things on their way out for a night of fun, he caught glimpses of their blissful smiles and felt the familiar sharp stab of envy in his chest. What he wouldn’t give to have Alex falling into step beside him. It would be just like old times - the three of them against the world.

            Neal shook his head from side to side to clear his mind. There was no time for regrets; he had to channel every ounce of his energy to getting Alex back. If there was one thing his four years at the bureau had taught him, it was that the first 36 hours of a kidnapping were the most crucial, beyond which the chances of recovering the victim alive were slim to none. He needed to get to Alex back home before then. Home - the thought of the three of them sitting back on the balcony of 17A Rue Emile Borel sipping Chateau Margaux just like they had all those years back finally managed to bring a smile to Neal’s face. Lost in his thoughts, Neal barely registered Mozzie coming to an abrupt halt at the boutique beside his apartment, right in front of him. The next thing Neal heard was Mozzie’s strangled yelp as he ploughed face first into Mozzie’s small frame. Shaking his head at his friend’s newly-acquired clumsiness, Mozzie dipped his hand into his satchel and began pulling various items out. First came the blond wig which Mozzie promptly fit over his perfectly bald head. Neon plastic glasses and a fake goatee quickly followed and were rested in their respective positions on Mozzie’s face. With a conspiratorial smirk, Mozzie cupped one palm over his mouth whispering “Ready to pull the ‘Retailers’ Nightmare?’”

            “I was born ready,” replied Neal smartly with a tip of his fedora. Neal put his game face on and pressed himself against the brick wall of the boutique, careful to play the angles to keep his face off the surveillance camera that swept the area just outside the entrance. Mozzie grabbed the elegant metal handle on the delicate glass door of the boutique threw it open. He puffed his chest out haughtily, sauntering through the entrance as if he owned the place. Neal could barely supress a chuckle as he watched, from the corner of his eye, Mozzie approaching retail worker standing at the counter behind cash register in the corner of the shop. The poor retail worker eyed the cocky stout young man with what had to be the worst dye job he had ever seen with wariness, sensing trouble. Steve, as identified by the sleek metallic badge pinned to his meticulously pressed uniform, failed to muffle his groan as the brazen young man brandished a single worn sneaker in front of his face, screaming, “I demand a refund!”

“Do you have the receipt for your purchase please sir?” replied Steve in his most courteous voice, trying his absolute best not to lose his cool.

Of course, the young man had to shake his head and blink absently, indicating that he had either misplaced the receipt in question or was unwilling to cough it up. “In that case, do you have the name of the retail worker who cashed in your purchase?” signed Steve, fingers hovering over the keyboard attached to the equally sleek computer that sat on the counter top. He was prepared to enter the information into the system when the customer shook his head again.

“Do you remember your date of purchase?” Steve followed up. If he acquired the approximate time period which the exceptionally trying customer had visited the boutique, he could key cross reference the information with the records in the computer system to verify that he had indeed purchased the item in question. Then he would be able to award him the refund he had so rudely demanded for and finally get him to leave the shop to score himself a break from the constant harassment. The day could not, for once, go his way as the customer blinked again and shook his head dumbly.

“Do you at least have the other shoe?” the customer shook his head yet again and Steve threw his arms up into the air in sheer frustration. As Mozzie kept the retail worker annoyed and thoroughly occupied, Neal slipped right through the front door undetected. He padded over to the locked control room at the far left of the main hall, careful not to let the soles of his shoes scuff too hard against the carpet lest they draw a whisper, attracting unwanted attention. Staff only was painted in bold red letters on the wood, warning the occasional curious customer to keep away. Removing a small leather-cased lock-picking kit from the inner pocket of his suit, Neal drew out a skeleton key and a twisted paper clip. Kneeling down to level his ear with the lock, he masterfully manoeuvred both items into the small hole. He twisted the metal parts around for a couple while, straining to hear the soft whirr of the mechanism. It was not long before his practiced movements hit the sweet spot and the lock snapped open with a satisfactory click. Grinning triumphantly, Neal pushed the heavy-set wooden door open and entered the control room.

The sound of the rapidly escalating screaming match between Mozzie and the unfortunate retail worker was abruptly muted as Neal closed the door behind him. Neal was aware that the exasperated worker would only tolerate Mozzie for that long before he called security to throw the unruly customer out and so Mozzie’s diversion could only buy him a small window of time. Without wasting any more time, Neal quickly got down to work. He plugged his thumb drive into the CPU after turning on the computer that sat on the desk. Thankfully, the staff had taped the password to the system to the monitor in case some poor sap forgot it and got himself locked out. Neal’s fingers made quick work of the numbers on the keyboard and managed to get to the home screen in the matter of seconds. He quickly downloaded the video footage from the surveillance cameras beginning from that afternoon.  Drumming his fingers on the desk impatiently as he waited for the files to be copied over, Neal glanced out the glass panel at the main gallery. The retail worker was waving his arms about frantically and his mouth opened and closed in what Neal assumed to be frustrated expletives. If there had not been quite so much at stake, Neal would have thought the scene funny.

As soon as the harsh bleep indicated that the transfer was complete, Neal wrenched the thumb drive from its dock and pocketed the slim metal strip. He shut down the computer, opened the door of the control room and stepped out into the main gallery in a rapid succession of movements. His long legs carried him right back through the main doors and out into the street before Steve even noticed his presence. He was that good. As the doors to the boutique closed, Neal caught snippets of the conversation between Steve and Mozzie.

“Sir, I regret to inform you that I am unable to grant you a refund,” intoned the retail worker, crossing his fingers desperately behind his back as he wished on all the stars in the sky that the difficult customer would just take his word for it and refrain from giving him a hard time.

It was absolutely impossible, of course, for him to have even an ounce of luck that night as the disgruntled customer yelled an indignant, “why not!”

“Because,” replied an exasperated Steve, “you did not purchase that item from our shop,” as he pointed with unconcealed disdain at the dirty men’s sneaker that had, on all accounts, ruined his otherwise perfectly pleasant evening.

“How do you know for sure?”  challenged the customer with less enthusiasm than before. Out of the corner of his eye, Mozzie registered Neal’s safe departure from the store and, with the need to create a diversion negated, could afford to tone down his act. 

“Because this shop only sells women’s apparel!” cried Steve, swearing internally to turn in his letter of resignation the next day. To his utter astonishment and absolute joy, the difficult customer finally began to see reason. Flashing Steve an apologetic smile, he shoved his sneaker back into his satchel and left a hefty tip on the counter before turning on one heel and high-tailing out of the boutique.

This time, Mozzie trailed a few paces behind Neal as the latter made his way up the brick steps that led to their apartment, fishing out a set of keys from his pocket as he went. Neal fit a silver key into the lock, twisting it impatiently and shoving the door open with one open palm. He then pushed the door shut as Mozzie walked through the threshold, wasting no time before sprinting over to his laptop sitting on the dining table in the middle of the living room. Neal fit the thumb drive into the port hastily and both men waited with bated breath as the footage began to play. The surveillance cameras installed to guard the boutique next door from opportunistic burglars also caught a good angle of Neal’s doorstep, allowing them to make out anyone who came up to the apartment. They were straining their eyes at the grainy video to catch the messenger who had delivered the paper flower to Neal’s doorstep in the hopes that he or she could lead them to Alex’s kidnapper.

Nothing of interest occurred as the video played on 4.5x speed for about an hour until the screen showed the orange sun setting slowly behind the buildings. “Stop!” cried Neal abruptly, sitting bolt upright in his chair. Mozzie complied, pausing the video at the moment where a middle aged-lady was halfway up the steps to the door. Mozzie zoomed in and, there in her hand, plain as day, lay the unmistakable paper flower. Neal inhaled a sharp breath, feeling as though he had just won the lottery. Neither one of them recognised the mystery women and quickly determined that she must have just happened to be in the right place at the right time, managing to catch Alex before she was taken by her kidnappers. Neal saw the logo of a bridal dress on the tote bag that she had slung causally over one shoulder and realised that he had seen that logo somewhere before. With a snap of his fingers, he realised that it was the logo of a semi-famous local boutique just a few streets away from the Eiffel tower. He remembered passing by that particular row of shops with Alex a while back during their pick-pocketing days and knew exactly where they had to go next. Tilting his head, he caught a glimpse of Mozzie’s widened eyes and knew that his good friend was thinking the same thing.

“Well, I’d call operation ‘Retailer’s Nightmare’ a success,” noted Mozzie with a more than hint of smugness in his voice. “What would I do without you,” replied Neal fondly, unable to keep the small smile off his lips as the thought of being one step closer to Alex filled his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long since the end of White Collar. Does anyone still ship Neal/Alex? Is it just me out here all by my lonely self?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While following the trail of clues left behind by Alex, Neal and Mozzie encounter an old nemesis.

**Chapter 5 – One Step Closer**

 

              Slamming the laptop shut with a decisive click, Mozzie stood up from his comfortable position on his recliner and walked over to the corner of the dining table where his satchel lay. He hummed absent-mindedly to himself as he began tossing out items that were no longer necessary while grabbing other oddities off the shelves that stood at the far left side of the living room, preparing for their next con. In high spirits, Neal allowed himself a chuckle as he watched Mozzie drag out an oversized sun hat from inside an empty Milo tin sitting on the second shelf of a cabinet, shoving it into his bag. Mozzie buzzed around, picking out other items to piece together his new disguise. Neither man had realised that, between the time they had received the paper flower and the time they pinpointed the mystery woman on the surveillance tape, the sun had already begun to peek shyly through the clouds to signal the beginning of a brand new day. It was not a moment too soon, as Mozzie has just finished assembling his new identity and shuffled over to the front door. With a tip of his fedora and a blinding smile, Neal followed suit.

              Both men walked shoulder to shoulder in amiable silence down the gravel road, with enough speed and urgency that they began to break a sweat. A few turns and bends led them all the way to the base of the infamous Eiffel Tower. “Would you look at that,” breathed Mozzie as they paused to catch their breaths. This square held fond memories for the both of them, the fondest of which was of the first day they had met Alex. They were standing in that very same spot beneath the tower, but that was another story for another day. Neal and Mozzie shared a brief smile, both feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over them. With a spark of determination and renewed vigour, they continued on their search for Alex. Neal made a left turn off the square, leading the way into a smaller alley. Both friends were intimately familiar with this escape route that led from the Eiffel Tower through a series of winding back alleys all the way back to 17A as it was one they had taken countless times after their pickpocketing expeditions.

              They made another left turn followed by two rights before they found themselves on a narrow cobblestone road. Both sides of the uneven slabs were flanked by quaint little shop houses that looked like relics from times long past. A gentle sigh left Neal’s lips as he thought of the all previous times they had gathered there, adrenaline coursing through their veins and wild smiles tugging on their lips, as they counted the pocket change they had managed to pilfer off the passers-by at the base of the Tower earlier that night. Those were good times. Neal’s eyes narrowed and his dark brows drew together as his gaze landed on the scuff marks at the base of one of the apartments. While Mozzie busied himself with putting together his disguise, Neal decided to investigate. Pacing forward cautiously, he reached the mark on the floor. Kneeling down to get a better look at the scratches on the wall and bits of overturned rock crumbling on the ground, he noticed that someone had fallen at that very spot. Inhaling a deep breath, he caught the faint yet still unmistakable sharp spice of perfume that still lingered in the air.

              Neal looked up at the shophouse they were standing in front of and noticed its signboard read Paris Ciel Wedding Gowns. The silhouette of a flowing white wedding dress was printed boldly on the logo beside the name. This was the place they had been looking for. Whipping his head around to face Mozzie, a wild look of panic dancing in his blue eyes, he whispered, “Mozz, she was here.” Mozzie was uncharacteristically calm given the current situation as he placed a comforting hand on Neal’s shoulder. “That’s good. It means we’re on the right track,” said Mozzie, trying hard to focus on the positive instead of dwelling on what might have happened to Alex at that spot.

              Neal let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his messy brown locks, but quickly disguised his distress behind a brave front. Mozzie did not think he had ever seen Neal quite so fragile – not after their first slip-up on a con; when he was thrown into prison or even when Kate died in the explosion. There were dark circles under Neal’s usually bright eyes and his smile was strained. Mozzie felt a sudden surge of anger at the man who had not caused misery to both his best friends, his only friends. He would do anything to set things back to what they were before. “Let’s do this,” said Mozzie firmly, pushing through the doors of Paris Ciel.

              A large sun hat sat snugly on Mozzie’s bald head, obscuring his eyes. Neal, who was not a huge fan of embarrassing disguises, walked in with his fitted suit clinging flawlessly to his frame and his black fedora sitting comfortably on his brown locks. To his disappointment, the mystery lady they had seen on the surveillance footage was nowhere in sight. The only other person in the shop was a young employee in her mid-twenties with her brown hair up in a messy bun and large coke-bottle glasses sitting on the edge of a round button nose. The cosy interior of the shop coupled with the soothing classical music playing in the background gave off a comforting, homely feel that was meant to put all couples who visited the shop in search for the ideal wedding gown at ease. It did wonders to calm Neal and Mozzie’s frazzled nerves, allowing Neal to focus on finding their mystery woman.

              As Neal’s eyes landed on the young sales assistant again, he felt as though he was missing some piece of the puzzle. His eyes widened in understanding as he took in how similar the shape of her face and the colour of her blue eyes were to that of their mystery woman. The pair must be mother and daughter. Flashing a grin at Mozzie and tilting his head slightly at the girl, he conveyed his newly-acquired knowledge to his long-time friend. Knowing one another for that long had its advantages as Mozzie picked up on Neal’s cue almost immediately. Neal turned his blinding smile towards the girl, beginning on his mission to convince to let them meet her mother. “Love the earrings,” complimented Neal, striking up a conversation with the girl. The girl lowered her head, a shy smile finding its way onto her lips, her cheeks turning a shade of bright red. Neal kept up the friendly banter for a while before steering the conversation in the direction he wanted. “It must be lonely staying in this shop all by yourself,” remarked Neal casually as he rested one elbow against the counter.

              “Oh, not at all. My mother works here with me,” replied the girl quickly. Neal’s grin brightened even further, encouraging her to go on. “We’d love to meet her,”              Mozzie interjected just as she was opening her mouth to continue. “She’s upstairs taking the day off. She was up late last night making alterations to a wedding suit for a groom-to-be,” the girl replied apologetically. Noting Neal’s crestfallen expression she added, “But I’m sure she will be delighted to see you if you come by tomorrow.”

              Tomorrow was far too late. Neal and Mozzie did not know even know what Alex’s kidnapper’s plans for here were, not to mention if Alex had that much time. They had to meet the young girl’s mother right then. It was time to play the Newly-weds’ Deception. Catching Mozzie’s eye, Neal silently signalled to Mozzie to back his con. Linking his arm with Mozzie’s, Neal pulled Mozzie closer to his side. He gazed down at his friend with as much doting affection as he could muster before turning his gaze to the sales assistant. “We flew all this way from America to thank her for tailoring our lovely wedding suits!” exclaimed Neal in despair, crossing his fingers frantically behind his back in the hopes that this young girl was not homophobic. Mozzie nodded in agreement for a second before he realised the implications of his friend’s statement. His eyes then widened in horror, not quite ready to play the role of loving newly-weds.

              Neal sent a warning glance and a hard nudge into Mozzie’s side with an elbow. Mozzie’s full cooperation was needed in order for them to have even the slightest chance of pulling off the con successfully and with what was at stake, there was no room for failure. Snapping out of it, Mozzie recovered and sent a smarmy smile up at Neal, trying hard but barely succeeding at keeping in character. He shot a venomous glare at Neal when the girl was not looking their way, mad at Neal for pulling this one over him. As the girl looked back, Mozzie nodded in confirmation and looked up hopefully at her. The two friends held their breath in anticipation, waiting for her reply.

               Abruptly, she let out a sharp squeal of delight and bounced up and down, clapping her hands in glee. “I’ll go call her,” sang the girl as she whirled around, her flouncy dress swishing around her legs, sprinting up the wooden polished stairs and vanished into the second floor. Neal and Mozzie simultaneously let out their breaths in relief. The Newly-weds’ Distraction had worked. It was amazing just how much people gave in to newly-weds and what could get away with. The sound of laughter and excited chatter drifted down from the level above before the clatter of heels against wood was heard. Soon, the young girl reappeared at the top of the steps, pulling her mother out by the hand.

              Both mother and daughter were smiling radiantly, their eyes shining with delight, as they rushed down the wooden steps to stand before Neal and Mozzie. Once they were within arm’s length, Neal un-linked his arm with Mozzie’s and the two jumped apart. Mozzie ripped off his sun hat and rubbed his arms self-consciously, not used to being quite so close to Neal. Watching the scene unfold in front of her, the mother furrowed her brows in confusion. Mozzie cleared his throat, removing the paper flower from his satchel and holding it up in front of the startled pair as means of explanation. Realisation dawned on the mother and she draped a protective arm around her daughter, urging her to run upstairs.

              Noticing the barely-concealed panic in her mother’s eyes, the young girl turned around and darted into her room upstairs, closing her door behind her. “I don’t want anything to do with this,” said the mother firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and taking one step away from Mozzie. A determined frown was set on her lips and her forehead creased in concentration. “Please,” begged Neal in desperation, “our friend is missing and you’re the only one who can tell us where to find her.” Seeing Neal and Mozzie’s display of concern, the woman began to relent. Her blue eyes softened and her arms slipped down to rest loosely by her side. Biting her lower lip in thought, the woman looked away and sighed heavily. She knew that telling these two strangers of the events that she had seen was dangerous as she and her daughter would be the kidnapper’s first target if he figured out her involvement. However, another glance at Neal and Mozzie’s pleading looks and her heart melted. It was obvious that they cared for the missing girl, and she wanted to do her part to reunite them. “I’ll tell you everything,” she said.

              _“It was late. I had just closed the shop for the day and the lights were all off.  I was still downstairs packing up the fabric I was using to sew a new gown commissioned by one of our customers when I heard the sound of hurried, uneven footsteps coming down the street. This is a bad neighbourhood and crime is not unheard of. I wanted to go out to help her but whoever was after_ her _could have been dangerous and I had to look out for my daughter’s safety first. I closed the blinds and hid under the window. From where I was kneeling, I managed to see someone stumbling against the brick wall outside. She was dizzy and disoriented and she could barely walk. Her face was blurry in the dark, but she was wearing black and she had long brown hair._

_I almost went out to help her then, but I heard a new set of footsteps coming down the street. They were heavier and more deliberate. She was almost passed out then, but before she was out for good, she slipped something beneath my door. I saw a man come up to her. He was not very big, but he managed to sling her over his shoulder and carry her away. I was so mad at myself for not helping her when I had the chance, so I went over to the mat at the front door to see what she had left. I saw the address and I knew where it was so I went over to deliver it. That’s all I know.”_

              The woman was clearly distraught, guilt making her unable to meet Neal’s eyes as she recounted the incident. Neal assured her that she had done the best she could. After all, there was no way she could have taken Alex’s assailant on her own. Chances were that they would both have gotten hurt. Despite all rational thought, despair began to creep into Neal’s mind. They had hit a dead end and it seemed as if the trail ended there with the mystery kidnapper. Mozzie had other ideas. Snapping his fingers together decisively, Mozzie brought out an old brown envelope from his satchel and tipped it over, emptying its contents onto the counter at the far end of the shop. Out poured a slew of photographs of many people Neal knew, and even a number that he had never met in his life. “Why do you have pictures of everyone you’ve ever met, in your satchel?” asked Neal curiously.

              “I like to be prepared for every eventuality,” replied Mozzie evasively. Shooting Neal a look, Mozzie added, “Look, just be glad I brought them.” Mozzie gestured towards the collection of photographs on the table, urging the woman to point to the man who had taken Alex. Mozzie figured that if the assailant had wanted Alex for a job, it would have been a whole lot easier to pay her off instead of drugging and kidnapping her. No, Alex was not an easy person to trick and whoever had taken the trouble to carefully orchestrate this entire ordeal had a personal feud with Alex. It was a long shot to hope that Mozzie had met Alex’s assailant before, as Alex had dealt with many others apart from them on the other side of the law, but they had to at least give it a shot. “That’s him!” cried the woman suddenly. Neal and Mozzie leapt forward, their gazes falling on the man in the photograph that she was pointing to. With his deep-set eyes and cocky smirk, the man was unmistakable. Matthew Keller.

              “How is he still alive? I saw Peter shoot him in the head,” Neal said, shaking his head in disbelief. His brilliant blue eyes shone in confusion. “Looks like the both of you had the same idea of faking your deaths,” replied Mozzie with a sigh. Keller was a serious adversary and it did not help to know that he was prone to violent outbursts, but at least they knew who was holding Alex captive. Mozzie had been proven right once again – the kidnapping was not for business; it was personal. Keller and Neal’s company had been at loggerheads for a good long time, Alex included.

              “Let’s pay him a visit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of this chapter? What was your favourite part? What was the part that you hated the most? ...is anyone even still reading this? Please please please do leave a comment! I read every single one of them and they make my day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mozzie and Neal face an unexpected opponent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of hugs and kisses to De_Mova for the beautiful comment on my last chapter! It really made my day. This chapter is for her. If any of you out there are fans of Alex, or are still reading this, please write me a comment! I love hearing from you it gets pretty tiring screaming into the void when I'm not sure if anyone is out there in this fandom.

**Chapter 6 –Virgin of the Rocks**

 

By the time Neal and Mozzie were all packed up and ready to leave, curiosity had gotten the best of the young sales girl and she had plucked up the courage to poke her head out of her bedroom door to peer at them from the second floor. Neal put on a reassuring smile for her benefit and thanked the woman in front of them politely as they walked towards the front door. With a customary tip of his fedora, Neal pushed the doors open and led the way into the slowly awakening street. “To the warehouse then?” Neal quipped, tilting his head towards Mozzie, to which Mozzie acknowledged with a brief nod. Despite the dire situation they were in, Neal still held on to a glimmer of hope.

Although danger was practically Keller’s middle name, his rash and impulsive nature more often than not let his work bear marks of sloppiness. “Don’t worry because in the end good always triumphs over evil,” recited Mozzie, sensing his good friend’s building trepidation. “Edmund Burke,” replied Neal with a genuine smile. The familiarity of one of Mozzie’s obscure titbits of wisdom had a calming effect on Neal’s frayed nerves as it reminded Neal of all the tough scrapes that the pair had managed to pull through together. This time would be no different. With renewed optimism, Neal quickened his pace through the narrow winding street, turning off to the right at the street corner. Their shoes tapped rhythmically against the rough, uneven cobblestones, measuring their pace as they progressed.

A few more quick turns through back alleys led them all the way back to the warehouse. Mozzie rummaged around in his satchel, pulling out a large, heavy key ring with a dozen or so key jangling from the loop. With surgically swift, precise movements borne of practice, Mozzie opened the 5 sets of locks guarding the entrance in rapid succession. Finally, the door clicked open and swung inwards. Being the ever gracious host, Mozzie held one hand out in invitation, gestured for Neal to enter his safe house. This place was meant strictly for work – it was where the pair came to plan cons, forge documents and run over surveillance footages of less than questionable origin. The still air hung low and thick in the room as the front door swung smartly shut behind them. A slightly musty smell lingered in the apartment as Mozzie, ever paranoid, had forbade Neal from opening the windows due to the very slim risk it created of a suit overhearing their plans.

The interior of the warehouse was sparsely furnished, but the walls were densely decorated with any number of remnants from the previous cons that they had pulled in the previous years. The place was almost fifteen years old. They had acquired it collectively not long after the first time they met and its walls were packed full of fond memories from better days. Neal glanced around the small room, taking in the piles of unfinished canvases and partly sculpted vases; the diagrams and floor plans pinned to walls; the cork board with notes and scribbles in the corner, and felt a dull ache of sadness when they reminded him of Alex. Neal knew that Mozzie was thinking the same thing too as his friend had grown silent. But it was no use dwelling on the past. They had to get to work.

Now that Neal knew Keller had Alex, he had to figure out Keller’s motive. Knowing Keller, it was most probably revenge. Unfortunately, that did not paint a rosy picture for Alex as Keller’s idea of revenge generally ended up in death for both the recipient of said revenge and anyone who attempted to interfere with his plans. Keller was determined too, and getting him to hand over Alex would be no easy feat. Neal realised that he had to offer Keller a deal he could not resist; and what better gift to offer to a greedy criminal mastermind than a painting worth billions? Pacing towards the small wooden table that sat in the middle of the living room, a plan to lure Keller out began to take shape in Neal’s mind. But first, Neal would have to come up with a convincing copy of the Virgin of the Rocks.

Carefully selecting a piece of canvas from the scattered pile on the tiled floor, Neal smoothened it out and set it down on his easel. Meanwhile, Mozzie busied himself with gathering the brushes and filling a bucket with water from the brass-handled tap in the kitchen. The Virgin of the Rocks was one of the more impressive pieces featured in the Louvre. On warm September afternoons when the relentless heat clinging in the air made staying in 17A unbearable, Neal liked to wander the galleries of the Louvre, immersing himself in the stories told by the pieces that hung on the walls. He had seen the Virgin more than enough times to recall the swirls of blue and black that coloured the canvas.

Picking up a thick brush, Neal plastered on the base layer of dark blue to set the tone for which the painting would follow. Neal switched brushes often, moving back and forth between brushes of different sizes and coarseness to create texture. He dipped his brushes into the bucket just as often, watching as the colours bled into the cloudy water, creating a blend of murky grey. He swirled on a deep bluish-green to outline the dress of the woman standing to the left and dabbed on navy blue highlights at the edges. Saffron and magenta were thoroughly mixed on the side of the palette to form a pale shade of beige, which was coloured on the face and arms of the four figures. Three solid hours and two changes of water later, Neal was finally satisfied with his creation. It was far from a masterpiece and any curator worth his salt would be able to call it out in a heartbeat, but Keller was hardly a connoisseur and so the forgery served its purpose. After all, it only needed to look realistic enough to capture Keller’s attention for a split second.

Mozzie already had the oven preheated and set to the exact temperature needed to dry the painting without bringing substantial damage to the canvas. With gloved hands, Mozzie carefully lifted the painting from its place on the easel and placed it gently down in the open oven. It beeped as it started its cycle, humming gently while the glass pan spun the canvas in slow lazy circles. The two friends watched the revolutions of Neal’s creation in the oven for the length of its cycle. Another series of shrill beeps indicated the completion of the heating process, signalling Mozzie to remove the canvas from the belly of the oven. He flipped it over quickly for Neal to scribble a short message on the other side before rolling it up and sliding it carefully into a protective case.

From women to alcohol to gambling, Keller was known for his indulgence in the vices. Find the classiest, most sinful place with the biggest, baddest criminals in town and, chance were, Keller would be sitting there in the middle of the room, the centre of attention. Slinging the strap of the case over the strap of his satchel, Mozzie led the way out the front door, making sure to lock it behind them. It was nightfall by the time the pair exited into the streets again, the cool night air sending chills to their bones. They walked at twice their speed out of not only urgency, but also a pressing need to keep the warmth in their blood. In hardly any time at all, they reached Le Baron Nightclub. Neal could feel the pounding bass line reverberating through the sidewalk long before he caught sight of the club, its bright neon lights flashing harshly.

A red carpet was rolled out from the entrance with roped barriers lining both sides and large muscled bouncers guarding the entrance. Mozzie handed the case over to Neal and ducked back round the corner but not before he sent his friend a reassuring nod. Playing the part, Neal strode confidently up the red carpet, puffing his chest out and keeping a self-assured swagger in his step. He paused and tipped his fedora to the bouncer as he reached the entrance. “You’re not on the list. This is VIP access only,” growled the large bouncer, glaring down his nose at Neal. It seemed that this nightclub was so exclusive that the staff had their entire guest list memorised right down to the last customer.

“That’s not a problem. I just have orders to pass this to Mr. Keller,” replied Neal with a winning smile. Faced with this unexpected visitor, the heavy-set man looked slightly apprehensive but was thankfully not outright unwilling. Neal played this to his advantage, layering the act on thick. “Hey, I’m just following orders, same as you. This is a very important package for Mr. Keller. You wouldn’t want to be a hindrance to his business deal would you?” prompted Neal. That seemed to do the trick. The bouncer grabbed the case with one meaty hand and quickly dismissed Neal with the other. With his mission accomplished, Neal turned and rounded the corner to join Mozzie.

The two men peered over at the entrance of the nightclub from behind the bend and watched on as the bouncer raised one muscled arm to his earpiece, making a call. Neither Mozzie nor Neal could make out his words from that distance, but they could bet that the bouncer was calling Keller out to the entrance. A few tense seconds passed and sure enough, Keller emerged into the street, smoothening the non-existent creases in the folds of his fitted Italian suit. He extended one open palm to the bouncer, receiving the black acrylic case. With a twist of his wrist, the lid slid easily off the main frame and fell forgotten onto the carpet. Tilting the case downwards, Keller removed the canvas from its place. Neal could make out the way Keller’s eyebrows raised in a mixture of confusion and satisfaction as he rolled open the canvas viewing, in its full glory, The Virgin on the Rocks. With a satisfied smirk, Neal knew that he had Keller hooked. Keller flipped the painting over and his eyes promptly darkened in realisation. There, in bold red paint, was:

 

_This one’s a fake, but I have the real deal._

_-Caffrey_

 


End file.
